


Empty, Silent, Serene

by Alice_in_Black



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings Realization, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Off-screen Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Purple Prose, Reunions, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-09-01 22:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_in_Black/pseuds/Alice_in_Black
Summary: *Part 1 has minor spoilers up to Chapter 9. Part 2 has spoilers to Chapter 13.Byleth is an oddity in many ways; each one is another reason for Seteth to distrust her.But the night of the ball, he sees more from her than just a stoic shell of secrets. And the fall is swift from there.





	1. Chapter 1

There were a million reasons for Seteth to be suspicious of Byleth. Her supposed youthfulness contradicted her level of skill and confidence on a battlefield; her absolute lack of anything like a coherent or cohesive timeline of her life left too much mystery for his comfort. She could suddenly and inexplicably wield the Sword of the Creator, a notable detail to say the very least. And, she always seemed to be one step ahead - constantly calculating, no doubt - but always with the most vacant expression upon her face.

Byleth looked lost even now, as though she’d just wandered in to find a ball completely by accident with no warning of the event whatsoever. She wasn’t even dressed in anything formal for the occasion, just her usual battlecoat and the exact outfit he saw her wearing _ yesterday_. She still had dirt from the greenhouse on her lace tights.

Lady Rhea was steadfast in her insistence that the woman would prove trustworthy and invaluable. If he couldn’t have faith in Byleth, he should at least have faith in Rhea’s guidance. He reminded himself of that again and again.

Something pulled her attention away from the dancefloor and into the crowd she stood among, and Seteth caught himself trying to follow her gaze. From here at the front of the ballroom, he couldn’t tell who she was looking at until he was leading her by the hand out onto the dancefloor; of course, Claude, with a smirk like he was up to something.

They didn’t dance quite like the nobles of the other houses. Claude never pretended to be cut from the same proverbial cloth, and heavens knew Byleth had no dance lessons from Geralt. They kept rhythm alright, but seemed most focused on spinning far more than the melody called for and twirling dangerously close to the other dancers. Woe to the noble children who followed the rigid choreography that went with this particular arrangement; Seteth heaved a sigh as several pairs broke apart to try and dodge Claude and Byleth on their prancing rampage.

“Brother?” Flayn piped up beside him.

Instantly, Byleth and Claude were forgotten as he settled his attention on Flayn. Seteth smiled sweetly at the young lady beside him, chest swelling with affection just at the sight of her. “Yes, Flayn? Are you well? If you are tired, do not feel obligated to stay. I will take you to your room.”

It had been months since her abduction, but far be it from Seteth to have grown comfortable or complacent in the meantime.

“No, no, that is not it!” A flush of red bloomed across her face. “I would like to dance. May I, please?”

Well. He could hardly be surprised by the request. She spent the whole party thus far obediently at his side while her new classmates were celebrating. He sighed again, pulling his fingers down the stubble along his jaw. “I would hate for you to give any of your peers the wrong idea by dancing with them. You must remember that many nobles consider sharing a dance tantamount to courtship.”

He had enough to worry about already, thank you very much.

“Please, I will behave with the utmost discretion! If you are most concerned about Sylvain, rest assured I have already rejected his advances this evening while I was getting a drink.”

“Advances?” Seteth repeated, and immediately looked up to scan for the young man in the crowd.

“He said hello and complimented my dress, and recalling what you had told me of his wicked ways, I told him plainly that I would not allow myself to fall into his snare, and left immediately,” Flayn recounted proudly. “Regardless, I would still very much like to dance. May I? There are respectable students who would not --”

“Please, Flayn, just remain with me here,” Seteth said, his eyes sympathetic but his voice firm enough to cut above the warbling music.

She started to nod, but stopped short. She glanced suddenly onto the dance floor, eyes bright and determined, and for a moment Seteth thought she was about to just dive right onto it. “Professor!” she nearly sang.

Byleth was flushed, fanning her face gently with one hand as she followed Claude back toward the side of the great hall. Waiting for them there, several of the Golden Deer house were gathered with plates of food stacked high with hoarded treats. Rapheal alone held several overflowing plates, carefully stacked up his arms. Hilda, meanwhile, held her hands awkwardly behind her back, failing to conceal two large, full bottles they’d somehow smuggled away from the kitchen.

Lorenz had the good grace to look embarrassed, but did nothing to stop any of them.

Seteth rolled his eyes; Claude’s antics in the ballroom were just a distraction, were they? And a successful one at that, as Seteth had not taken a moment to scan the crowd for mischief since he’d begun to dance.

At least, of all the little schemes he could have enacted for the event, he’d orchestrated something relatively harmless… No one was poisoned. Hopefully.

An urgent edge came to Flayn’s sweet voice, and pulled Seteth out of his train of thought. “Professor! Over here!”

Then did Byleth stop, and she gave a wave of dismissal to her students; once they saw where her attention was drawn, they immediately sank back into the crowd and out of sight, ill-gotten gains and all.

Hundreds of candles illuminated the room, from the chandeliers above and around the tables scattered along the perimeter of the great hall; their combined flickering force brought some semblance of light to her eyes, some sparkle that he knew wasn’t _ really _there, but stopped his heart all the same. He offered a polite smile to disguise any startled expression he might’ve let slip, and forced it wider when her own lips barely quirk at the corners.

Byleth was many things; expressive was not one of them. A woman of few words, often with eyes glazed over and no indication that she wasn’t just sleeping with her eyes open, it struck Seteth profoundly just how much a difference it made to see her skin flushed with life and her eyes bright as though with humor. And now this, a rare smile, suddenly made Seteth aware of a catch in his throat he hadn’t noticed until now.

She gave a nod of greeting, and stood before them just a moment too long to feel natural as she considered what to say. Too long, it took _ too long _for her to finally decide on, “Hello.”

“Hello, Professor! I could not help but admire your performance! You make dancing look so effortless. But I realize you nor your Claude were familiar with the steps. Perhaps my brother might dance with you next?” Seteth opened his mouth, his decline already halfway off his tongue, but Flayn continued as though she did not notice. “He could teach you some of the basics, and you can help him to enjoy the festivities; he is quite determined to do positively nothing but stand watch all night.”

If she thought she was being subtle, she had much to learn, and Seteth was determined not to be distracted from his duties as chaperone so easily. He tried to speak over her, to assure Byleth that it was really not necessary, that perhaps she should go after her students who were clearly up to some mischief, when Byleth answered, “Very well,” and reached out for his hand.

Any confidence he may have had in rejecting her was stolen as he considered the hand held out to him.

The candles sparkled in her eyes, casting her face in a warm glow. She stood entirely still, like a statue in the cathedral, waiting, and Seteth at last crumbled against the sight. He folded his hands - as if to pray - around hers, and said, “Perhaps just one.”

Flayn spoke true enough; he could teach her a few of the basic steps.

Dancing was a frivolous pastime Seteth rarely indulged in. It required more time to master than he cared to devote to it, and required a partner which he did not have and would not ask for. But he knew enough to lead her competently, and instructed her through a modest routine of simple steps that could be easily repeated to the musical accompaniment.

His dancing had none of Claude’s flair. He held her chastely away from himself, hand high on her waist and barely touching the thick stitching of her bodice, other hand grasping hers with more purpose than familiarity.

And she was silent. She looked over his shoulders, around the room, hardly ever right at him.

“Are you looking for where your students have gone?” Seteth inquired at last. 

This time, when she looked at him, he was ready for it. He steeled himself for the glimmer of life that would be reflecting from those usually-empty eyes, and fought against the twist of his lips when she breathed a sound that might have been a laugh.

“I think I know where they’ve run off to,” she said. This time when she spoke, Byleth had all the confidence and directness of giving an order on the battlefield. “Would you come with me? I think they’re up to no good, and if so, they may take my discipline more seriously with you there.”

More words than he’d ever heard her say in one breath that didn’t have to do with battle. In some way, he realized, she was thinking of it as a mission.

“Of course. As I am chaperoning this event, it should have been my responsibility to keep them out of trouble in the first place. Shall we go now?” he asked. She glanced mournfully at her feet, at the repetitive footwork he’d taught her, and after a brief hesitation, he added, “We can continue our dance afterward, if you like?”

In response to the offer, she nodded. Close-lipped, no teeth, and not quite reaching her eyes, but it was there: a real smile. This wasn’t a trick of the light now, not an illusion of the general merriment of the ballroom. She actually _ smiled _. 

Seteth tripped over the next step. “Ahem. Very well. Lead the way.”

Amazing what a difference it made when she showed some life, some indication that it was an actual _ person _ inside that shell of apparent emptiness. What a difference it made when he knew there was more to her than mystery and backstory that just didn’t add up!

She kept hold of his hand as she led him off the dance floor, through the crowd, and out the large open doors of the hall.

The crisp winter air revealed just how warm his face was. It had been so hot in the hall, with all those people, all that dancing, all those torches and candles - surely he wasn’t blushing, but he pulled his hand free of hers just to avoid any possible misconceptions she might have if she saw the red on his cheeks.

It didn’t take long to understand where she was heading, though he was nonetheless surprised that the Goddess Tower would be the delinquents' chosen venue. Of all places, why choose a spot sure to be swarming with starry-eyed children looking to make fanciful wishes?

Alas, as they approached, there was no one about. They heard no hints of laughter, or voices, just the echoing droll of revelry far in the distance.

“You are quite sure this was where they went?” Seteth asked.

Byleth glanced about as if expecting an ambush. “I heard Claude say it.”

“Oh?”

“When I was walking toward you, and he went to the others. I heard him mention the Goddess Tower.”

Seteth’s brows pinched. “A successful misdirection, then.”

“It would seem so.” She breathed a short puff of air that Seteth was now certain to be a laugh. “Clever things… Sorry for pulling you away.”

“It’s quite alright, I was not the only chaperone. Surely the others can keep order for a little bit,” he said, more to comfort himself than anything. “Flayn is still being supervised, and is safe where everyone can see her.”

“Yes.”

“Speaking of… Thank you, again. I have said so before, but it bears repeating how grateful I am to have you watching over my little sister.” Since they were alone, in the peaceful night before this holy place, there was no better time to mention it. And he certainly would not bring up something so very close to his heart in the crowded, boisterous ballroom.

“She is a wonderful girl. I would not have it any other way.” And though her face was back to its usual blankness, and her voice deadpan and bored, Seteth believed her fully when she added, “I care for her greatly.”

“I… _ Ahem _.” For a moment, he almost worried if she could see his heart swelling through his jacket. “Anyway, shall we head back?”

“Yes.”

They settled into a comfortable silence on the journey back. Neither spoke again until they were nearly back to the great hall.

“I heard that people go to the tower to request wishes from the goddess on this night. But no one was there. Is it not true?” she said.

“It is more superstition than anything, spread by the children and certainly not the clergy. But it is a popular tale. I am surprised as well that no one else was there, to be honest.”

“So is it not true,then? The story?”

“Anything that is the will of the goddess shall be granted by the goddess. To make wishes, to call on miracles, to simply pray for what we desire… If the goddess wills it to be so, it shall be done.”

Byleth stopped walking. “I have a wish. Should I go back?”

“Oh? You always seem so,” he paused in search of a kind word, “_ stoic _, I never imagined you to want for anything.”

She nodded, eyes turning back the way they came, and upward toward the top of the tower. In the darkness of this winter midnight, the dark grey peak of it nearly disappeared against the starless, overcast sky. “My students have all agreed to meet again in five years. Here, for the Millennium Festival.”

“They shall be welcome, of course. We expect it to be the grandest celebration ever hosted at the monastery.”

“They invited me. And said I should journey here as well, if I am not still teaching at Garreg Mach at that time.” Byleth now turned around, spinning slowly to take in all the buildings around them.

“I see. Is your wish to return here, then?”

“I want to _ still _ be here, when that time comes. I want to stay here at Garreg Mach for those five years. And longer, perhaps. If I may.”

The simple sincerity of the request surprised him. “The goddess will keep you here if she so desires it, of that you can be certain. You do not need to ask her for a miracle for that; you need only have faith.”

Her lips pulled together, ever so slightly. Perhaps it was because he was studying her so closely this evening, but he was beginning to pick up on all the little expressions he never realized she had before. Or, maybe, she was only now beginning to show her feelings, and he was perceptive enough to notice.

“You seem dissatisfied with my answer,” he said, and she looked at him with one brow just barely lifted, as though shocked he had discerned her feelings at all. “If it would bring you comfort… we can go back. And I will gladly pray with you for this wish of yours. While I have faith that the goddess will guide you according to her will regardless, it is a noble thing to want, to stay at the monastery, teaching children and serving the goddess. I would like it if you stayed, as well.”

They went all the way back to the tower, prayed in silence, and hurried back for the ballroom once more, not another word spoken between them in the meantime. 

The quiet did not remind him of her stilted social skills this time. It was peaceful in its simplicity. Her quiet lacked the tension of conversation, the conflict of debate; it was just the simplicity and serenity of the moment. _ Like fishing without bait. _

Though quite some time had passed since he left with her to begin with, it was no surprise to reenter the ballroom to see the celebration still as lively before.

Seteth was unsurprised to see Flayn taking advantage of his disappearance, smiling wide enough to take in her ears as she danced a lighthearted branle between Dorothea and Annette.

He was likewise unsurprised when Byleth was all but dragged away from him and into the dance as well, as if swept out to sea by an unrelenting tide.

He went back to his spot at the end of the hall, watching the room once more. He let Flayn continue dancing, and dared not interrupt the ceaseless procession of students, faculty, knights, and clergy who asked Byleth for dance after dance. 

It was enough just to keep an eye on them. The role of a guardian suited him better than the role of a reveler, certainly.

Byleth was an oddity, yes. But tonight, he saw just a flicker of personality beneath it, proof that she had a heart and a soul and was not just some walking enigma that existed to mock him with unanswered questions.

_ She was a remarkable woman, talented beyond her years, blessed by the goddess to wield the Sword of the Creator, a mastermind of tactics. _

At some point the Golden Deer had all returned, and made a point to dominate the dancefloor when all the rest were falling away and submitting to exhaustion. They kept the party alive for far longer than it needed to, in Seteth’s humble opinion.

Midnight turned to pre-dawn, and more of the party goers dispersed for their beds. Byleth left to escort a gaggle of children back to the dormitories, but she returned soon after to oversee the last embers of the party.

When finally the music had stopped, Seteth left her to help the kitchen staff clear empty dishes and glasses while he walked Flayn back to her room.

He returned to find the hall nearly empty. Alone, Byleth was putting out the last of the candles at the far end of the room.

“Ah, forgive me, I’d intended to help you clear this place up more… It seems you’ve finished without me,” Seteth said.

She turned to him, and in the darkness, she could not tell whether her face was giving anything away or not. So he walked toward her, across the wide open floor, and she moved to meet him in the center.

Then, expectantly, she held her hand out.

“Byleth?”

“We didn’t finish our dance,” she said flatly.

“Indeed. We have not.”

He took her hand in his, and placed the other ever-so-lightly against her waist.

And though there was no lively music, no exuberance of a crowded ballroom, no glimmering candlelight, her eyes _ sparkled _.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 3k of Seteth going from, "ugh she's weird" to "whoops, feelings."
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'm horribly out of practice in writing, so I really hope you enjoy! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr, or on Pillowfort (which at time of publishing is currently totally empty).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 has spoilers up through Chapter 13.
> 
> Five years have passed, and it takes reunion for Seteth to realize how taken he is with the professor. He's having a hard time hiding his emotions, while Byleth is more expressive than ever in her own quiet way.

Seteth’s grip on Flayn’s elbow tightened just a little as they climbed higher. The mountains surrounding the monastery were unseasonably free of snow, but the ground was still slick from rain, and the forest ominously dark around them. This road once carried believers of the faith, knights, merchants, visiting nobility, and so many others. Now, it was overgrown from years of neglect and direct avoidance.

Between Shamir’s signals from her scouting party, and his own wyvern’s general calm as it glided in unhurried circles over their group, Seteth was a little too comfortable, it seemed, and entirely unprepared for the scene that lay before them as they came upon the hillside checkpoint. The gatehouse and surrounding village structures were littered with the bodies of dozens of people in mismatched armor. Some were pierced with arrows or cut by blades, others burnt by fire… whoever these rogues had clashed with, they’d faced a powerful force of varied and dangerous skills.

Shamir knelt beside a man with the best armor of the bunch, up on a ledge above the main gate. Cooly, she said, “They died within the last few hours. Tracks come from both directions on the road, and retreat upwards toward the monastery.”

The sight of several dead in the shadow of their holy monastery should not have raised his hopes so, but the possibilities were promising. For the first time in five years, Seteth felt his shoulders lift and lighten with a cautious optimism.

Flayn tugged his hand the rest of the way up.

This day would have been the Millennium Festival; oh, after the ball those five years ago, Flayn could talk of nothing but how much fun she had, and how much she looked forward to the years to come! And since then, she pined for her classmates more than usual this particular day every year, and bemoaned all the ways she wished she were celebrating with them once again.

Her eyes lit up as the monastery rose up from the craggy mountains, midday sun bathing it in glorious light so that it looked as alive and vibrant as the day they fled. Perhaps this might not be the millennial celebration she’d dreamt of, but at least she was happy again.

Alas, the closer they came, the more the damage became apparent. Walls and bridges crumbled into the valley below, and more than one major building sported holes from trebuchets and magical assault. Long-departed war machines left deep tracks in the soft ground, which had worn away by time and rain into long ravines in the road. The sun set by the time they got close enough to see the cathedral; the red of the sky soaked into the white stone, making the collapsed outer wall and roof look more like a wound than a ruin.

And yet, despite this somber view in front of them and the mass grave of rogues behind them, an air of levity spread through the marching forces of the Knights of Seiros. Something hopeful carried them along, a promise of good news despite the countless trials, disappointments, and heartaches that had haunted their order from that fateful day to now.

The city was silent, but candles glowed through a few of the windows in the distance as dusk settled upon the mountain.When they arrived at the gate of Garreg Mach monastery proper, no guards stood waiting, but a single low, booming voice called from within: “Hello out there! Do you need in?”

The portcullis lifted, the massive mechanism turned by one lone man on the other side. Flayn wasted no time barreling in, roaring like a beast as she threw her arms around the young man’s broad shoulders. And while a weaker man may have lost his grip on the winch, Raphael barely budged at the force of Flayn’s full weight knocking into him. He just laughed, carefully locked the portcullis in place to allow the rest of the knights in, and carried Flayn on his shoulders as effortlessly as carrying a child’s doll.

_ Like no time had passed at all… _

Raphael led the way, and immediately the other occupants caught wind of the new arrivals and poured from all directions to join them. All of them were of the Leicester Alliance. Notably, they were all former students of the Golden Deer house, the very children who would have graduated the year the Empire attacked Garreg Mach.

_ Her students.  _ Amazed, Seteth looked up to the Goddess Tower in the distance. It still stood over the rest of the monastery, despite all the ruin and wreckage surrounding it. Proud and victorious, its promise fulfilled.

They circled the entire grounds and took in the extent of the destruction as they made their way to the cathedral. Despite the cathedral being far from where the majority of the battle had taken place, the devastation here stood out. Perhaps because the attack on this particular location had served no tactical cause: it was out of something darker, crueler, that the refuge of the faithful had been so needlessly destroyed.

A hearty greeting pulled Seteth’s eyes from the rubble strewn about the chapel floor before the. From the sanctuary of the saints, Claude von Reigan emerged, one arm over Hilda Goneril and the other holding Byleth Eisner so hard and so close, Seteth worried his newly-broadened arms would snap her in half.

For indeed, Seteth could only recall seeing her look so weak, so delicate, so vulnerable once before, when he’d helped Claude and Lorenz pull her silently-weeping form from her father’s still-warm body. She’d clung to him so tightly, it took all three of them to pry her hands from around Jeralt’s arms.

Byleth teetered awkwardly, even though Claude held her upright. The dark circles beneath her eyes may as well have been stains of ink. Her hair was longer than before, unkempt and reaching the bottom of her back in a messy and unwashed nest.

Seteth watched over their shoulders for another to join them, but Rhea did not appear. He looked again at Byleth, and found he’d rather keep watching the empty hall behind them for the long-lost bishop than continue to see her in such a state.

“Don’t mind my friend here,” Claude said with too much humor to have been fully genuine. “She slept in, and now she’s cranky. Her fault for keeping us waiting for so long, if you ask me.” He winked at her. “Don’t pout, Teach, we’d wait forever if you asked us to!”

The conversation was brief; the Alliance and the Knights of Seiros all knew what they wanted, and knew that they would be best off together. They could get into the logistics, the tactics and the deeper matters at hand when they’d all finally slept. The Golden Deer were weary from their earlier battle, the knights were exhausted from several days of travel, and every single one of them were drained emotionally from the heartfelt reunions and relieved tears shed all around.

Seteth and Flayn excused themselves when the other knights did, and Seteth prepared himself to see their rooms in disarray. At the very best, they would be covered in dirt and dust from the time spent abandoned, at worst, utterly destroyed -- 

“Brother?” Flayn asked beside him.

“Yes, Flayn?”

She swallowed before speaking, and though her eyes stayed trained straight ahead, he could feel them burning on something far out of sight. “They said that the professor slept all this time. That she was sleeping underground, for years.”

“Yes, I heard as much. Flayn, do not think on it if it upsets you.”

“What if she had not woken up on her own? What if no one knew she was sleeping? What if she falls asleep again, and doesn’t wake up?”

“It’s alright. She is awake, and she is well. You have no need to worry.”

“I worry every time I fall asleep. Our dear professor does not deserve to know that fear,” Flayn whispered. “We should at least go to her room, and ensure that she is getting settled. Please, Brother!”

“Byleth already has company. Hilda insisted on going with her to put her to bed.”

“Good, then we shall not be intruding!” And Flayn was squirreling herself away from his reach that instant, off to the dormitories with her Seteth on her heels.

He could have stopped her, put his foot down and demanded her obedience. Instead, it was his own hand that knocked gently against her door frame while Flayn called against the wood, “Good evening! My brother and I wish to inquire after the professor. Is she settling in well?”

The door swung open, not to Byleth, nor Hilda, but to a chagrined Lorenz who stepped aside for them to enter. “Please, do come in. We should take this as our cue to take our leave anyway.”

Hilda, Marianne, and Ignatz all stood behind Byleth, who sat awkwardly on a chair in the middle of the room. Lounging on Byleth’s bed, Claude and Lysithea shook their heads.

“No, no, no, you don’t get to call it off now just because your side’s losing, Lorenz!” Claude jeered.

“We are all of different minds as to how to cut the professor’s hair. We’ve taken so long bickering that now we are interfering with her seeing other guests, who no doubt missed her as much as we did. We should carry on this discussion--”

“This  _ argument _ ,” Hilda corrected.

“This friendly debate?” Claude suggested.

“--in the morning,” Lorenz concluded. “Or, we should at least continue it elsewhere and let the professor enjoy her evening. She certainly deserves some semblance of peace.”

“Is this not a good time?” Seteth dared to ask.

But the whole party was already shuffling out, grumbling with varying degrees of vexation.

As Claude and Lysithea stood, the previously-hidden form of Linhardt rolled off the bed after them, yawning dramatically all the way. “If we just cut it short, it’ll stay out of her eyes, and we won’t have to cut it again for a long time.”

“For the last time, _ Linhardt _ ,” Hilda said, spitting his name like an insult, “I can’t put hair that short in an updo, so what’s even the poi--” Her voice disappeared with the slam of the heavy oak door, leaving Flayn, Seteth, and Byleth plunged into an abrupt, eerie silence.

“I love my children,” Byleth said flatly to the closed door.

Seteth cleared his throat. “Apologies for coming by so late. And for interrupting…  _ that. _ ”

“I am forever in your debt,” she answered plainly, closing her eyes like she was savoring the sudden peace.

Her hair was clean now, damp and sticking against her face and shoulders. And throat. And collarbones. Untangled and heavy, it fell even longer than he’d realized before, and held so much water that her blouse was quickly soaking through so that he could see a rosy tone blooming through the weave--

“ _ Ahem _ , Flayn, would you find Byleth a dry shirt before she catches a cold?” He turned away to focus on the calendar on her desk. It still showed the marked date as the thirty-first of Lone Moon. “We should take you back to the sauna, so that you can at least dry in front of the fires there.”

“No, please. I’m so tired, I can’t bear the thought of going up and down those stairs again.” Her voice rose in pitch at the end, pleadingly. “That must sound silly, since I’ve been sleeping for so long. And as no time seems to have passed for me, I should still be used to a strenuous lifestyle. I wonder if this is how Hilda feels, knowing I should be able to handle a task without issue, but feeling exhausted at the very thought.”

“That is an extremely generous comparison,” Seteth said.

“Could you manage walking to the academy?” Flayn asked. “The classrooms have fireplaces, and you are quite cold, professor! I fear my brother is right to be concerned this time.”

“I am right to be concerned every time, dear sister.”

“Alright, alright. To the classroom, then. Is it strange of me not to want to go to sleep, even though it’s so late?”

Flayn answered immediately, “No, professor, I do not think so.”

He could hear her stand, and then the flutter of fabric hitting the floor. He dared to look only once she moved beside him to put her chair back in place at the desk.

The nightgown she’d changed to was almost laughably mature, a long and shapeless box of fabric that left absolutely everything to the imagination; Seteth caught himself breathing an audible sigh of relief.

They were in the classroom soon after, Seteth building the fire while Byleth and Flayn gathered the nearest chairs for them to sit on. But Byleth, strangely, ignored the very chairs she’d moved in favor of sitting directly on the stone floor at Seteth’s side. And Seteth, likewise, remained on the floor as well.

There was no telling how late it was, sequestered in the long-abandoned Golden Deer classroom. They fed the fire all through the night, and chatted softly about everything she’d missed. They told her of all the places they’d traveled in search of Rhea, about the chaos that war had brought down on the world, and about any little moments of hope or victory that had kept them going through the despair of defeat and loss.

And she nodded along, sometimes smiling softly, and once she even chuckled. Seteth was certain he hadn’t misremembered her expressionless stares and stoic demeanor, but the way emotion seemed to come more naturally to her now meant that he was taken aback more often than not. He kept his attention on the fire, constantly adding wood and stoking it, if only to ensure that neither Byleth nor Flayn could catch him staring.

There was no rationalizing it, even to himself in his own mind. He knew his distraction was not because he was Rhea’s advisor and she was the bishop’s chosen successor; it was not platonic concern that had his heart quickening every time her lashes fluttered with exhaustion, or when she sighed softly.

She rested her head against his shoulder, and he nearly scoffed at himself when his first thought had been that surely it was the heat of the fire that made his face burn so. He could not even fool himself anymore!

The weight of her head was a comfort. Her physical presence, after having been missing - possibly dead! - made this renewed effort against the Empire more plausible than if it had been the Leicester children alone. And, to know she was alive meant that Rhea could well still be out there, that hope was not lost!

And to reunite with her on this night, of all nights, brought a particular kind of satisfaction. He’d said before that the will of the Goddess would be done, whether they prayed for it or not. Now, he wondered if the miraculous circumstances were indeed a message from Her; perhaps he ought not to take Her blessings for granted.

He was already a pious man, but even so, perhaps he ought to pray more.

He glanced down at her, her dry and comfortable. Her tired body rested against him with a familiarity and tenderness they had never shown one another before the war, and he bit his lip to keep from smiling.

Should he have prayed for this long ago? Oh, how his heart insisted he should have, but something in the pit of his stomach begged to differ. Imagine how much more terrible it would have been to lose her in the battle if he’d been knowingly in love with her already!

She stirred, and glanced behind them. With a soft, almost affectionate sound somewhere between a sigh and a coo, she nudged Seteth’s arm. “Flayn is asleep,” she whispered.

Seteth followed her gaze, placing his fingers over his lips fondly at the sight. Flayn had laid across her own and the vacant seats on either side of her, curled delicately with her hands beneath her head.

“We should take her to your room,” Byleth suggested softly.

“Indeed. If you’re tired, of course, you do not need to come with. I know you cannot abide the thought of stairs right now. Perhaps you should go to your room and sleep yourself.”

Byleth shook her head and stood. He suddenly felt cold where she had been folded against him. “No, I think I’ve slept enough…” And with that, she pulled Flayn into her arms and started for the door. “But you’ll have to show me the way. I don’t think I ever saw your actual room.”

“Ah, no, you wouldn’t have. It’s through my office. This way, please.”

The light of dawn struck them as they left the classroom. A few of the earliest risers watched their procession up to his office, but none commented on the strange sight of them up this early, nor the fact that Byleth wore a nightgown and armored sabatons - it was dangerous to go barefoot with all the wreckage about - around the grounds like it was nothing.

Byleth set Flayn upon her bed and crossed the room to draw the curtain against the brightening morning while Seteth tucked the young woman in, as if she were still just a child.

As soon as Flayn seemed settled well enough, Byleth whispered, “I think I’ll go down and get some food. If you’re not going to sleep quite yet, would you like to join me?”

“Aren’t you tired? You look like you might fall asleep into your breakfast.” She certainly looked more like how he mostly remembered her, bored and vacant and empty behind the eyes.

But she waved the thought away dismissively. “No, no, I don’t want to sleep…”

Seteth’s brows knit. “Are you… frightened of it?” he asked, one hand unconsciously brushing a lock of seafoam hair from Flayn’s cheek.

“No… It’s silly, actually,” she said.

“You do not strike me as a silly woman.”

She glanced behind the curtain, a beam of sunlight cutting across her face as she looked down on the grounds below. Her lips turned in a small smile, but her eyes winced as though pained. As if looking on the monastery cut her like a blade. “They’re down there… Right there, Sylvain and Leonie. They’ve grown so much… I can’t believe it.”

“It’s heartening to see that some students originally from other houses have chosen to honor the promise to reunite as well,” Seteth agreed.

“Yes, but that’s not…” She sighed, and the sound wavered painfully. “I missed so much. They’ve been through  _ so much _ since I’ve been gone. I wasn’t there for them. Think of what I could have done in the time between! Think of what I missed… I let them down. Every minute I wasn’t there for them…”

This show of emotions was utterly beyond anything Seteth had seen of her before -- more than he ever would have hoped to see from her. And here she was, standing straight and eyes ahead, determined, but her chin was quivering and her words were weighed down with an anguish he didn’t even know she had the capacity to feel!

“Byleth, you mustn’t--”

“Each moment I spend sleeping is a moment stolen from them. No more. I refuse to sleep my life away, when I’ve pledged it to someone else.”

He stood from Flayn’s bedside, and moved to her in two long strides. He placed one hand against Byleth’s side to turn her away from the window, and the other caught her fingertips in some attempt to pull her attention back to this room, back to him, back to the moment. “Please. Professor. It’s alright, I understand.”

Now her eyes were leveled on him, lost and pleading for some answer or reassurance he simply could not provide. And, helpless, he ran his tongue across his lips and offered feebly, “You should rest. And not just for your own sake. Your charges will worry for you if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“When I must. Only when I absolutely must.”

“I sympathize with your feelings, truly, but you must realize how reckless that attitude is,” Seteth scolded gently. He relinquished his hold on her waist to catch her remaining hand. He held them both in front of her, his thumbs running softly over her knuckles in some small attempt to soothe her distress. It was a quiet, understated distress, yes, but he knew her well enough to see how shaken to the core she truly was. “You’re too important, in and outside of battle, to be pushing yourself like that. You must remain sharp in all senses. As you’ve pointed out, so many people are relying on you.”

She swallowed hard, and her bright green eyes cast downward to their joined hands. “Would you promise to wake me up?”

_ “Certainly.” _

For a moment, he swore that she’d leaned into him, standing on her toes, so that her lips had then pressed to his with a heartbreaking softness, and she’d pulled against his hands to get him closer. He was certain for just a moment that their bodies had been drawn flush, that he’d been so taken aback that he’d hesitated just a moment too long, and she’d pulled away looking as panicked and remorseful as he’d ever seen her.

But that moment disappeared, nothing but an errant fantasy and nothing more. Byleth was instead looking down at their hands, which she gingerly let go of, lips drawn in a tight line and nowhere near his own mouth. She whispered hoarsely, “You’re right, I should go back to my room. Thank you, for staying with me tonight.”

“It’s…” His heart stuttered as he thought of the kiss that hadn’t happened; why did he imagine that? Should he kiss her? “It’s my pleasure. I have work to do, so why don’t you rest here with Flayn rather than go all the way back to your room. It’s quite alright, and she’ll appreciate not waking up alone.”

“I wouldn’t impose--”

“I insist. I’ll wake you in a few hours. I promise.”

And almost as soon as she laid down, Byleth was breathing slow, fast asleep with a peaceful look on her face. Flayn had immediately worked herself into Byleth’s arms, and together they were a vision of peace and comfort.

His chest felt tight. He touched a hand against his lips, and wished again, and again, and again that he had not merely imagined that kiss.

Seteth lingered at the door, watching them. This was the peace he prayed for, fought for.

The war was not over. They had hope again, they had opportunity again, they had Byleth again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Thank you to everyone who's commented and left kudos already! _It feeds me._
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://aliceliveson.tumblr.com/), or on [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/AliceAlive) (which at time of publishing is currently totally empty).
> 
> I've never proofread in my life, and I'm not about to start now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 has spoilers up through Chapter 20.
> 
> Byleth expresses herself better now, but she still has secrets. So does Seteth. The easiest solution is simply to be honest, obviously, but that's an endeavor easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was originally supposed to be 3 chapters, but I'm expecting to do another chapter after this still. They burn too slow.

By the time the combined forces of the Alliance and Knights of Seiros returned to Garreg Mach from Enbarr, most of the physical injuries of the survivors had been healed. But the clouds across their faces spoke of lasting pain, wounds that could not so easily be cured with a spell or relieved with a tincture.

In the first meeting in the cardinal’s room since the infiltration of the imperial palace, many kept their eyes on the table the whole time. Marianne’s hands shook as Claude read a report on their casualties, until Hilda caught her trembling fingers in her own and held her still until the end. Linhardt’s eyes were closed, too tense to be sleeping, tight enough to catch any moisture that might betray him. Ignatz, when commended for his swift and effective dispatch of Hubert von Vestra, flinched as though the words were a cruel condemnation rather than congratulations.

Claude paused as he neared the end of the report. He glanced to the woman at his side, their professor and master tactician, and waited for her to say something. To tell him to continue. To finish the review of what had been among the darkest days in their lives.

Instead, she sat still, her eyes empty, her hand over her chest where her heart should have been.

He didn’t finish the report, in the end. They all knew how the battle concluded.

And there was still more bloodshed that yet awaited them. The war would still rage on, as there were still enemies waiting to strike, seeking to destroy Fodlan and its people.

There was no peace in sight.

As everyone left the room, Byleth stayed seated and caught the sleeve of Seteth’s jacket as he passed her. “Would you stay a moment? I’d like a word,” she whispered. 

Although there was an amount of relief and encouragement Seteth felt at the fall of Enbarr, primarily at confirmation of Rhea’s safety and her return to Garreg Mach, this clearly wasn’t a day of celebration for anyone else. When the door shut on the last of the attendants, leaving Seteth and Byleth alone, he watched in horror as she bent over the table and dropped her face to her hands.

“Professor--”

“As Rhea’s advisor,” she croaked through the tightness of her throat, “do you think you could give me some advice? Please?”

He knocked the chair back loudly in his haste to sit beside her. “Of course.”

“If you knew there was no better way to end that battle… If you knew, if you got to try over and over and over again to find the perfect way to go about that battle, and you knew that how it finally happened was the best possible scenario, but you still had nightmares and… and just thinking of it makes you ill… what could you do to cope with… with this best-possible, horrible, horrible thing I’ve done?” She peeked up at him from her hands, her green eyes so soft it made his stomach drop into the floor.

“I understand how you feel. The sacrifices that are made, the losses that are taken… the fear of seeing your students, your children, put in harm’s way… Professor, I cannot imagine how difficult it was for you to deal the final blow.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, and relaxed as he felt her lean into his touch. “You must be steadfast in your convictions. We fight for Lady Rhea, and the Goddess, and the Alliance. Let your mission be your solace. Whatever weighs on your heart, let it be vindicated by restoring peace and safety to Fodlan once and for all.”

“You’re so confident about that.”

“I’ve found solace in such a mindset in the past.”

She nodded slowly. “Well, that is very good advice, and I will be taking it. But for right now -- for tonight…” She chuckled and shook her head once before adjusting so that her jaw rested against her knuckles, arm propped on the table. If he didn’t know her better, he would nearly swear she had a glint of mischief in her eye. Perhaps she’d learned this bit of expression from Claude. “Do you remember when we all were reunited? I’d just woken up, and you stayed up with me all night.”

Of course he remembered that night. And, strangely, what he remembered most vividly was the moment that hadn’t even happened, the kiss he’d dreamt up. He kept his face as impassive as he could at the thought, and answered plainly, “Yes, I do.”

“Would you do that again with me? I know what you’re about to say, self-imposed insomnia isn’t a long-term coping method, but I think just one more night like that would be good for me. No nightmares. No guilt for sleeping.”

He hoped the eagerness of his smile didn’t give him away. “It would be my pleasure. But, it is still quite early in the evening, and there is much work to be done. Shall we meet in my office tonight?”

“Your office?”

“Do you expect your charges not to come barging into your room all hours of the night?”

“Of course not, they do it constantly. But this time, I will still be fully awake to entertain whatever questions--”

“And do you expect,” Seteth continued pointedly, “for them to respond maturely to me being in there with you? Alone?”

Byleth blinked, and Seteth fought the impulse to wince at how very unaffected she looked at the prospect. “They’ll understand. No one gets the wrong idea when they come in to speak with me and I already have Lorenz or Claude with me.”

“Right, that is… an excellent point.”

“They don’t need evidence for their theories about us anyway.”

Seteth had opened his mouth to say something else entirely, but he choked on the words as what she said settled in his brain. “Ahem, ah, what theories? Theories about us?” His genuinely bafflement, he hoped, disguised the hopefulness he felt accelerating his heart.

And she just waved her hand dismissively and stood up from her seat. “They’ve been talking about it since the ball five years ago. Do you remember that? We went to the Goddess Tower together, and they all got the wrong idea.”

He nodded slowly. “I do. We prayed that you would stay here.”

“Right. They all took it to be some romantic thing.” She laughed quietly, privately to herself as she opened the door. “But it was the dance at the end when I fell in love with you.”

His pounding heart stopped suddenly, painfully.

“What did you say?” he breathed, shocked.

Byleth slapped a hand so hard over her mouth, her print would certainly bruise.

And a moment later, a moment ago, her face was perfectly blank as she opened the door. “Anyway, I’ll meet you in your office tonight. You’re right, it’s more professional.”

His imagination really was getting away from him lately.

“Ah… y-yes. More professional... for all intents and purposes…” He had to look away, had to look at the papers still littering the table. He set to gathering them up, rather than watch her any longer.

*

There was enough to do to keep his wandering mind busy, at least. Administrative work in running a monastery and school was nothing compared to the demands of an army. He managed to coerce Hilda into helping him fill out some ration requests from the Alliance. A hurried dinner with Flayn, checking in on Rhea, sending requisition requests to blacksmiths and armorers and merchants, not to mention approving the first wave of church assistance to rebuild the damage done to Enbarr in the recent battle…

It swarmed in Seteth’s head, cacophonous and maddening, necessary but strangling - until Byleth’s name scratched from his quill, and for a moment the world went still, and his mind went quiet.

He’d have been embarrassed if anyone saw how long he stared and pined at the mere sight of her name. Even alone in his office, he cleared his throat and glanced around self consciously, rubbing his fingers through the scruff along his jaw just to get his hand off the quill for a moment.

Professional. Professional. There was far too much to be done, too much responsibility on both their shoulders, for him to muddy these waters with his own ill-advised heartsickness.

A break was in order. Seteth pulled his teapot and tools from a shelf and set about preparing some, all the while silently assuring himself that this would clear his mind, help him focus. He needed a minute not staring at parchments, that’s all.

Well, preparing tea proved an effective distraction; when a knock came at his office door, Seteth startled enough to very nearly spill scalding water across his desk.

“Ugh, yes?” he called, reaching for a handkerchief on the corner of his desk. No mess had been made, but he wiped around the dry surface for good measure, or perhaps by the will of some anxious energy trapped in his hands.

The door opened, revealing Claude and Hilda, looking as relaxed and in-control as Seteth sorely wished he were. Of course, he also knew them both well enough to take the facade with a grain of salt - the blood was freshly washed from under their nails, and they would not so easily forget the faces of their now-dead classmates. But Claude was also the one leading the final charge against what remained of their enemies, and that promise of victory oh-so-close did bring a certain glimmer back to his haunted eyes.

“A bit late for tea,” Claude pointed out. He crossed the room to sit casually on the edge of Seteth’s desk.

“I don’t plan to sleep tonight,” Seteth answered.

Hilda stood at the door, playing herself off as casual and aloof as she allowed Claude to take the lead in this private conversation. She leaned back with her feet crossed on the floor, and no matter how she adjusted herself or moved her weight from one foot to the other, her ear always found itself pressed against the door. 

“Understandable. There’s much still to do. And I appreciate how much you and the knights are taking on for us,” Claude said. He chose his words deliberately when alone with Seteth, the advisor noticed long ago. He spoke slower than he did with Byleth, less candidly. “I wanted to go over a few matters with you, specifically regarding the reassignment of some battalions. Do you have a minute?”

“Yes, of course. Would you care for some tea?”

“Sure, thank you.” Claude was conscious to keep his hands perfectly visible and motionless while he waited for his cup; his time as a student had been filled with several scoldings from Seteth for slipping poisons of varying intensities into tea. “Before we get into my plans for those battalions, I do have to ask. You’re doing alright, aren’t you?”

Seteth fell back into his chair bringing his cup with him. He tried to breathe the steam, to let it warm and calm him, but it was hard to find respite with Claude’s inquisitive eyes looking through him. “Quite alright. You’ve no need to worry.”

“I just thought you’d be relieved now that Rhea’s back. But you look on-edge. Is everything alright with the archbishop?”

“Yes, Lady Rhea is resting. She is weak, as to be expected after the time she’s spent captive, but I do believe she will recover.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, an ounce too breezily for Seteth to believe him. “So if not Rhea, what’s the matter? Something I need to know about?”

Seteth shook his head and shrugged his shoulders; it was supposed to be non-committal and dismissive, but somehow Claude seemed to perk up. A corner of his lip turned upward.

Damn, this boy was too perceptive for his own good.

“You know how I love secrets, Seteth,” Claude warned. “Do you want me to find out what you’re hiding, or will you spare us both the trouble? We do have other business on our agenda, after all.”

Honestly, and quite frustratingly, Seteth really didn’t have the patience to have Claude prying around to figure it out. Best, he knew, to tell him just enough to sate his appetite for information.

And maybe, he just needed someone else to hear it.

“I find myself troubled by Byleth,” he admitted at last. He said it mostly into his teacup, as if it would catch the sound and filter out the shame from his voice.

At this, Claude placed his broad hand down on the desk to lean forward toward Seteth. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t misunderstand. She is doing well, by my estimation; she is pained by the battle in Enbarr, and the deaths preceding, but that is not the source of my concern.” If only so that he didn’t have to see Claude staring him down as he said it, Seteth closed his eyes wearily. “You read people well enough, Claude. Don’t make me say it.”

“The recognition is nice, but not as satisfying as a straight answer,” Claude said, a shade too smug for Seteth’s liking. There was a shift of Claude’s weight on the desk.

“I intend to be proper and professional always with Byleth. Rest assured, I have no intention of complicating our professional relationship.”

“You’re the last person I’d expect to pull any grand romantic gestures, Seteth.” Somehow, it didn’t sound like a compliment. 

Ugh. Seteth pinched the bridge of his nose. “This doesn’t leave this room,” he said.

When Seteth dared look up, it was to Hilda smirking with something like pity, and Claude looking… distressingly pensive. “I won’t say anything.”

They excused themselves shortly after.

*

He knew when she was coming by the clanging footsteps echoing from far down the hall; and it was at least polite of her to give that much warning, as she didn’t knock when she got to his door, just stepped right in and sat down at the low couch in the corner as if she belonged there.

“Good evening, Seteth,” she said.

“Yes, good evening,” he said, keeping his eyes down on the page he scribbled across. He finished the sentence, set his quill down, rearranged the stacks across his desk, and did a few other unnecessary shufflings of papers and books before daring to look up at her.

“I bought some tea,” she offered. “Claude said you were drinking some to keep awake.”

Claude’s name stabbed through Seteth’s chest like an icy spike of horror. 

But her nonchalance made Seteth silently scold himself; he would make a fool of himself if he added paranoia to his already-crushing feelings of lovesickness. 

“Thank you,” he said, instead of the string of curses on Claude and his house that burned at the tip of his tongue. If he were a more vulgar man, perhaps. He looked down at the satchel she presented, its cord trimmed messily by a knife, bit of leaves poking through the weave of the fabric. “But I thought we could take a walk. I need to stretch my legs after all night at this desk.”

“Flayn has been thrilled at your work ethic,” Byleth said through a rising laugh. “You at your desk means she has full run of the rest of the monastery. If you spend any longer in this office, she’ll be in charge.”

A fond sigh eased the tension from Seteth’s shoulders. “Do not let her bully you into submission. I know my sister can have a strong personality at times.”

“I’ve already sworn myself in service to her. Alas, she is a tyrant.”

Seteth laughed as he held the door open for Byleth. 

As they walked, Seteth felt his arm nudge away from his body. Byleth, at his side, slid her arm around his. He swallowed thickly and kept his eyes straight ahead. He tried not to ponder too hard on how close she moved beside him, or the feeling of his forearm sliding against her ribs with each step.

He expected his composure to slip, and his mind to wander again, but he thankfully stayed in the present moment. Mercifully.

They walked in silence, aimlessly meandering about the grounds. The moon moved slowly above them, and all was quiet save for the distant shuffle of guards along their watch routes.

As they stepped into the empty entrance hall, their footsteps echoing in the darkness, Byleth asked, “Do you think we’ll be ready to host a ball again this year?” 

“With the Empire defeated, peace hinges on how swiftly we can eliminate Those Who Slither in the Dark. Despite our victories, we’ve taken heavy losses, and all of Fodlan has suffered far too long in the chaos. The sooner we face these foes directly, the better.” He tapped his lips thoughtfully. “Is your goal to finish the war by Ethereal Moon?”

“I think we can end it sooner, actually.”

“Well then, I imagine that a ball would be a welcome celebration of our victory. But we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves.”

“Of course not,” Byleth said quickly, “I only meant… The war has been hard on all of us. I think one of my last purely good memories was the ball. After that…”

After that, she lost her father. And everything fell apart from there. Seteth said, “Yes, I understand.”

“I know you do. You’ve always understood me so well,” she said, but her words rattled sadly.

“I didn’t then,” Seteth said. “Rather, not until then. But until the ball, I was quite vexed by you.”

That admission ought to have been shameful, considering how well she’d proven herself before and since, but the soft trill of her laugh erased any worry Seteth might’ve had. “But you like me better now, right? Now that I’m more transparent?” 

“Now that I know you. Recall that the ball was before your... change,” and he paused to gesture to her hair, as if she could have possibly not understood what he meant, “so my fondness was not contingent upon you expressing yourself, so much as me learning to decipher you. An endeavor even still, at times.”

“Ah, like a puzzle,” Byleth said.

“Or a poem,” Seteth offered.

She scoffed, and damn it all, Seteth nearly scoffed at himself as well!

Mercifully, she let that go and turned her attention to the hall around them. In the darkness, it almost felt like the night of the ball. Like no time had passed at all.

“Byleth?” he whispered, so low and so soft he scarcely hear even hear himself, despite the deafening silence of the empty hall.

“Yes?”

“If we have another ball to celebrate when all this is over, this time I will promise not to let our dance be interrupted.”

Her eyes sparkled. And oh, how the wide smile across her face burned straight through his chest. “There’s no one to interrupt us now.”

It occurred to him, just at the moment that his hand found home against her waist and he pulled her to face him fully, that for all his fantasies about her kissing him, or confessing her feelings for him, he’d never dared imagine that he could be the one to kiss her, to confess to her.

He was a fool. An utter fool who was going to regret this. Claude would have to forgive him for so immediately breaking his promise.

He bent his head low, lips against hers gentle and chaste and oh-so-careful. His hands still held her for a waltz, their bodies were still held apart at a respectable dancing distance, everything else was perfectly proper and innocent and--

A soft sigh escaped her lips. She broke his hold on her hand and waist to cling against him and tangle her hands at the front and throat of his jacket. Any sense of propriety or deniability dissolved with her composure, with the opening of her mouth and the hot breath he felt against his tongue. And all at once, he crumbled into her as well.

Pulling her close, so tight he felt her body buckle against him, he waited for the moment to end. For the fantasy to die, for him to open his eyes and be waltzing like nothing happened at all.

It did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so, so much for your comments and kudos. It's been so incredibly validating and inspiring, I can't express enough how much it means to me. Sorry it took me a long time to continue this. My life is in shambles lmao, but y'all's support makes all the difference in the world!
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://aliceliveson.tumblr.com/), or on [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/AliceAlive) (which at time of publishing is currently totally empty).
> 
> As always, I've never proofread in my life, and I'm not about to start now. I am sorry, but not sorry enough to change.


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